


Stairwell To Heaven

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/F, In Public, Public Sex, Teen Wolf Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There <i>are</i> places in the school they could go, places they wouldn't be disturbed. But Malia doesn't want to wait a second longer, and Lydia's not feeling all that patient either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stairwell To Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Teen Wolf Femslash Week](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/twfemslashweek), and [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org), prompt "in public".

They’re tucked in the back of a stairwell, pretty much in full view of anybody who walks past, and Malia has her hand up Lydia’s skirt.

This is not going to end well.

Admittedly, class in session, and most students with a free period have already made themselves scarce. But that doesn’t mean this is in any way _safe_ , that they won’t be found like this. Somebody could be late for class, or need the bathroom, or be straggling on their way to the library. 

Somebody could _see_ them.

Lydia pulls at Malia’s shirt, tries to tilt her head back from the kiss, no matter how _incredible_ it feels. “C’mon, let’s find somewhere more private,” she murmurs, already breathless. She’s an expert at school hook-ups, after all, knows all the best places they won’t be disturbed.

Malia’s fingers stroke high up Lydia’s thigh, and there’s a low noise rumbling in her chest that sounds suspiciously like a _growl_. “I don’t want to wait any longer,” she huffs, pushing back in against Lydia’s body so she can suck at the skin right behind Lydia’s ear. “You smell too good.”

Coach’s office isn’t _that_ far away. Or there’s a bathroom right around the corner, which may never have been Lydia’s favourite place to have sex but she’s willing to make an exception for Malia. Anywhere would be better than where they are right now.

But Malia’s already sinking to her knees, and Lydia isn’t doing a damn thing to stop her. 

“I’ll hear,” Malia says roughly, looking up the length of Lydia’s body. “If anyone’s coming this way, I’ll hear.”

Lydia bites her lip. God, this is a bad idea. “You better hope the only one coming is _me_ ,” she hisses, and Malia smirks, grabbing Lydia’s hips and pulling them forward.

Lydia’s back arches, head falling back to rest against the wall, as Malia noses her way under Lydia’s skirt. Opening her mouth against the fabric of Lydia’s panties, breathing hot and damp against her cunt, and Lydia feels herself throb for it, a shiver stealing up her spine.

Malia drags her tongue over the panties, sucks at the material until it’s damp with her spit, with Lydia’s pleasure, until she’s squirming and pulling impatiently at Malia’s hair.

“While I’m young,” Lydia snaps warningly, and she can _feel_ Malia’s grin.

She exhales shakily when Malia tugs the panties down her thighs, lets them fall to the floor around her ankles. Lifting her feet so she can step out of them, because plausible deniability is going to be a hard stretch as it is if someone _does_ chance upon them, but her coral pink panties around her knees would make it impossible.

Malia shoves them in her pocket, and Lydia raises her eyebrows pointedly. “You’re giving those back when you’re done.”

Malia just gives her a noncommittal grunt and once again disappears under Lydia’s skirt.

It doesn’t seem possible that her breath can be even _hotter_ without the panties between her mouth and Lydia’s skin, but it definitely feels that way. Lydia digs her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to keep her gasps to herself, and failing miserably when Malia’s lips purse around her clit. Kissing at it, _sucking_ at it, and Lydia hooks a leg over Malia’s shoulder and tries to fuck herself down against the pressure.

Malia responds by holding Lydia’s hips still in immovable hands, and going even _slower_.

Sweet slick friction, Malia pushing hard with her lips, flicking soft with her tongue. Working Lydia open until she can lick inside, wet and roiling, and Lydia can feel herself shaking in earnest, hips twitching under Malia’s hands, those hot-cold streaks of sensation growing stronger and stronger.

And that’s when she hears it.

Laughter and voices, not loud but not quiet either. Bouncing off the echoing walls.

Getting _nearer_.

“Malia!” she gasps, or tries to, voice sounding raspy and distracted. Shivery feeling of pleasure getting tighter, like a knot at the base of her spine, heart thudding and blood rushing through her veins. And Malia keeps grinding her mouth, keeps twirling her tongue in all those ways that make Lydia forget herself, that make Lydia do stupid things like have sex in stairwells.

The voices are definitely getting louder. Definitely nearer.

Lydia’s thighs are trembling, and she knows what that means, knows how _close_ she is. And Malia clearly knows it too, letting out a hungry groan that vibrates against Lydia’s flesh, makes her squeak and drive her teeth back into her lip. It’s too loud; those people, whoever they are, they must be able to hear the noises she and Malia are making, must be able to, and somehow it’s making Lydia hotter, wetter, making her pulse against Malia’s tongue.

She’s dizzy, eyes rolling up, hand slapping over her mouth at the last second because she knows she can’t hold back her moan.

Malia presses her face close, finally releasing her grip on Lydia’s hips enough to let Lydia fuck her way through her climax just as hard as she _needs_.

Lydia can feel her shirt clinging to her skin, heat flushed all the way up the back of her neck. Panting open-mouthed, chest heaving as she pulls herself back together. 

Malia’s sitting on her heels, smiling up at her.

“Where are they?” Lydia whispers, eyes darting to the corridor, ears straining to hear the voices again.

Malia shrugs, like their almost-audience was inconsequential. “In the bathroom. They weren’t coming down this way - I _told_ you I’d hear if someone was.”

Lydia narrows her eyes. “That was a pretty big gamble, sweetheart.” She lets the pet-name drip with sarcasm. “How did you know they weren’t heading for a _different_ bathroom.”

Malia just shrugs again, clearly unbothered by the lucky escape. Her hair is tousled from where the fabric of Lydia’s skirt rucked up over it, her lips still shining with Lydia’s release.

Lydia _really_ wants to be mad at her, but Malia makes it so damn hard to be.

She _does_ reach out for Malia’s wrist, though, once Malia is on her feet and stepping away. “Forgetting something?” she asks with a knowing smirk.

Malia sighs and gives her a sulky look, before fishing Lydia’s panties out of her pocket and handing them over.

Lydia steps back into them, watching Malia’s pupils dilate for the slow drag of lace sliding up Lydia’s legs. She takes Malia’s hand, squeezing her fingers. “Your turn,” Lydia promises with a smile. “And this time we’re going somewhere we don’t have to worry about being interrupted, so I can take my _time_.”

Looks like they’ll be paying a visit to Coach’s office, after all. Nice and private there, because Coach Finstock is a man of habit, and Lydia knows he won’t be back until last period.

Still, there _was_ something about the thrill of it, of knowing how close they were to being caught, to the way it just made her come faster, _harder_. Probably not a good idea to risk it twice in one afternoon, though.

Still, Lydia decides against locking the door to the office behind them. Just for the hell of it.


End file.
